I’ve just spun a web.
A web between a tree and another tree.
They are my trees now.
I’ve just spun a web between them.
Here comes a bug. Damn. It flew past me.
Here comes a bug.
I have a bug.
Another. I have two bugs.
Two bugs, two trees, one web, one me.
Here comes a drop of water.
Splash! on my web.
I run to bug, it struggles.
I spin web around it’s body.
Dead bug, it will be soon.
Another water, it breaks part of my web.
No. This I do not like.
I leave my bug to mend my web.
More rain, destroyed web.
I run up my tree past ants.
I cannot count past eight.
My web is gone, my bugs gone, too.
I cry eight tears from eight eyes.
Gone web, gone bugs, gone food.
Now I will starve.
Unless I build new web between new trees.
Location: Journal #1, written during church mass in which I did not pay attention
Time: 9 minutes.
Inspiration: Wingbeats II: Exercises & Practice in Poetry